Neither Wit, Nor Words, Nor Worth
by hauntedlittledoll
Summary: Title taken from Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar."  Being deaf doesn't change all that much about Jayne Cobb . . . unless he wants it to.


The only scary thing is that it's not the end of the world.

Jayne Cobb has been profoundly deaf for three weeks, and Serenity is still flying. He's still shooting, and his mama never has to know. The money for Mattie's medicine keeps coming, and Jayne hasn't gone home in years.

The ship is home, and no one's kicking him off it.

Mal's been making noises about adding to the crew. He cites their lack of pilot, the loss of a good gunhand in the Shepherd and the new responsibilities of motherhood for Zoe, but Jayne knows the real reason. He just doesn't say it out loud, and Mal doesn't either.

But he blew a fist0sized hole through the rogue reaver they met last week, and River thanked him prettily even though she could have decapitated the thing twice over in the time it took to pull the trigger. It shut Mal up for a bit as he worried about the ringing in his own ears.

That's a perk; gunfire doesn't register in the one tone range that Jayne's retained in his left ear. Neither does Mal's whinging.

They don't need a pilot or a gunhand. River is a one-woman crew; capable of piloting, fixing, and defending the ship single-handedly should the need arise. The rest of them continue on because the teenager indulges them. Jayne's learned to live with that. River's handy in a fight, and Jayne wouldn't scoff at Zoe's skills either.

Zoe won't give up her post anytime soon—baby or no baby. She loves the little thing, but she loves Mal and Kaylee, River and this ship too. She works and she mothers, and Zoe manages that balance the way Jayne manages his own burdens. It's a nice little bonus that Jayne can't hear the baby squalling, although he can feel the vibrations if the littlest Washbourne hits a certain pitch.

In fact, barring the minor inconvenience of catching last minute changes to the (usually-terrible) plan, being deaf has mostly been a win-win for Jayne.

Jayne's been disadvantaged all his life. What's one more technicality?

Kaylee and Inara are quick to start miming things at him, with bright smiles and politically correct pity in their eyes. Jayne isn't above using that to annoy Mal, but it gets old fast, and mostly Jayne ignores the frantic hand-waving. He can read well-enough, thanks.

Mal wouldn't accommodate a blind buffalo of his own volition, and Zoe doesn't say or do much in need of translating. River steadily refuses to sign, even though Jayne's positive that her brother's responsible for the rest of 'em flapping about. The girl drops her words into his head the way she lifts his out. It's not like the moonbrain made much sense before.

Jayne would like to call this adjusted.

* * *

><p>At six weeks, Mal's picked up a second mercenary. Jayne would be angrier if the Captain hadn't asked Jayne and Vera for a demonstration; he only got the words secondhand, but River promised that she had repeated them exactly right.<p>

The captain had told the tall blonde woman: "If you can match his shot, I'll double your cut."

Perhaps to an outsider, it wasn't much. But to Jayne and the rest of the crew, it was a rare compliment and sign of trust on behalf of their captain. Bleeding heart aside, Mal didn't give up good money if he didn't have to.

Jayne pegged the tin can from half a mile off. The woman scored the fence post, shook his hand, and moved into the empty bunk across the way. In a jovial mood, Mal helped Jayne move in the new load of cargo just like old times.

The new mercenary isn't the only addition to the crew. A scrawny orphan kid stowed away two stops ago, and Mal hasn't kicked him off yet. Zoe's baby is also a little more personable now that it can sit up, roll over, and make preferences known. Jayne's stopped associating it with Mattie's doll babies at least. The kid's about the same level as a smart puppy, he reckons.

Jayne doesn't say that aloud.

He doesn't say much aloud anymore. Jayne can't hear to modulate his voice. There's bellowing that wake the baby, loud whispers that carry across the cargo bay, and half sentences where Jayne thinks he's talking until River starts repeating the bits no one else can hear. It's embarrassing.

Jayne's alright with being the strong and silent type. If he needs to make a particular point, there are other ways. Vera's a favorite of course.

For day to day communication, Jayne's got a pad of yellow paper which works well enough as long as he keeps it away from Kaylee and River. The former will fill it with her sunny commentary, while the latter scribbles like a mad scientist in code. Either way, it's hard on pages.

Jayne suspects that Simon and Inara are covertly improving his vocabulary when they add to his notepad. It's a map of different handwriting and conversations—including the evolution of Jayne's own handwriting through the constant practice.

When a person loses a sense, there are some skills he can learn and some he'll lose.

Jayne doesn't miss the old guitar that the Shepherd brought out for late nights on Haven. A local teen had taught him to play by ear, and Jayne had meandered through the older ballads his mother loved to the saucier drinking songs with passable results. After _Miranda_, Jayne hadn't touched a guitar because of the memories attached.

It had been long enough that Jayne hadn't yet considered the guitar, and probably wouldn't have if Mal's new mercenary hadn't been playing her own in the common area. She plays left-handed since she's missing a few fingers on her right, and Jayne can't tell if she's any good or not.

He doesn't stick around to ask. Jayne's babysitting for Zoe, and the baby's cranky. Jayne just goes down into his bunk to turns the dumb rain stick over and over again. He can still feel the vibration of the dried beans, and the baby falls asleep just as fast.

A person learns. Adapts. Even Jayne.

* * *

><p>Six months in, and writing everything down has gotten old. Jayne suffers from hand cramps and impatience with increasing frequency. Finally, he gives in, and goes to the doc with a deal. If Simon will teach him the signs, then Jayne can try teaching the city boy how to shoot. He's not making any promises, mind you, because the mercenary has seen Simon's previous efforts, but Jayne can try.<p>

Simon takes it, and the doctor is about as decent about the lessons as he was the injury that deafened Jayne in the first place. Jayne didn't exactly make it easy on Simon in the first few days after the explosion. If the doctor could reattach Mal's ear, a body could think him capable of fixing Jayne's. Instead, there was a lot of nonsense about the inner ear vs. the outer ear, and the throwing of things in the infirmary.

Jayne hadn't been ready for the lessons then, but he is now.

Simon teaches him the important words first, and expands as Jayne progresses. The doctor won't teach Jayne the signs for curse words and other profanity, but River promptly drops her 'no signs' rule to teach the mercenary instead.

Their stowaway sits in on those lessons, and Jayne is getting kind of used to the kid. The female mercenary left a while back, because not everyone can be crew, but Jayne knew that.

It takes a certain kind of person to stick around _Serenity_'s kind of crazy.

Zoe eventually bullies Mal into learning a few potentially helpful ones to make jobs go a bit smoother (a method of silent communication isn't a bad idea for any of them), and the crew makes a cute picture clustered in the common room with the baby on Jayne's knee to plot jobs and practice their best swears.

Acceptance always comes last.


End file.
